Laid flat
The cat
Sat back
To count each minute
Awaiting his feeding
That came never too often.
White paws
White tail
White ears and nose
A starking vision
Against Autumn browns
A house cat hardly saw.
Category: nature
Soul
What is my voice?
How does it come from within
But it is not of myself?
Would I have been wrong
To have heard it?
I bring my soul to the earth
Both by sitting upon it
By feeling it within my toes
And by listening to it
Sweet songs of assumed innocence.
But then if I stay
How long do my thoughts stray
What ebbs and flows within?
Can I settle down
Upon a dear limb
And become like green foliage?
Setting sun
Reminds me of home
So my home is where I shall roam
And here I slip back
Into my routine
Soul, still here,
Accompanying me.
Lonely
Lonely
Like this ghost
I whisper my secret stories
Unwilling to chill
My nervous twitch.
My veins have begun to bulge,
My forecast is for rain,
My tulips are still
A long cold wait away.
So this whisper caresses
My ghostly remains
Turning effortlessly
Against swirling wind,
And painting my brightness
Gray, weathered and stained.
Faint Echo
Transmission loss is inevitable
With such broad spectrum distortion
Carrying a candle through darkness
Is a miner for gold
Or coal
Or anything that matters
To the lords of the underground.
But when I yell
It echoes back to me
Around the field
From the trees
From the hill
Between the buildings and back,
Which gives me motivation
To try again
Though my understanding is faint
As I watch a blowing bag
Floating in the wind.
Today it is not dusty,
Though a slight breeze comes on,
It is muggy and heavy
An extra 30 pounds to a person
That sweats through a shirt
With the mere though of lifting
An arm in toil.
So where do I sit
In such heavy silence?
At the crossroads
With a miner on my shoulder
Torn down ligaments
Effortlessly gazing
But with sharp eyes watching
Everything being lost.
Flies
After a while the flies find you
Sinking into skin
Like love letters I’m waiting for.
I try my passive eye
With a lazy wind
Covering my imagination
While three ewes
Run circles,
Their heads down
Wishing for longer grass to hide in.
But my exhaustion
Just watches two blackflies
One on each wrist
Searching for that perfect place
To bite in
Just like the lover
I’m waiting to hear from.
My presence will outweight
My disregard here,
Just as the sun knows
It outweighs the wind
And there are no flies who care less.
My Suffering
I am not a descendant
Neither an ancestor
I walk only
Upon land un-owned
I hear voices
That I may not know
And recognize patterns
Inside my zone
That don’t jive
With my dreams and goals.
So then shall I be reborn?
Shall I find within me
The God I shall be?
Listening and believing
Actions and ideals
In perfect synchronicity?
My barefeet stumble,
My pattern outlayed.
But I still step softly
In spite the growing
Disillusionment
Bearing down upon my
Alighted brow
So that this God in me
Is the God that you see
And my suffering
Is not the God that shall be
In you.
Rose Petals
This is not a trail of broken hearts;
Fallen crimson rose petals
Reminding me of each cycle
Lost and reborn
Sun and moon dance.
This is a ripening and maturing
A ferment and bottle conditioned
Led by the golden tears
Of Springs fresh showers.
A frosty morning
With birds calling from branches
Yet bearing,
And a sly cat whispering:
Good day Sir, come along.
Not Spoken
I’m not spoken anymore
Dried in a bottom of dust
Let my soul sing
With fire sparks tonight
Can’t I get along alone
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Forget every song
I’ve written all wrong
Glory and frail,
Perfect and undone
Startling morning sun
My breath: heavy hung
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Empty this bucket
Lost in a sea
Between footsteps
Greeting me
And it’s dark
Close my eyes
To forget
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
I’m Interested
I’m interested, like the moon is interested in a ruksack.
Take me home, take me there, I want to see where you were made. And I’ll bring my spare tire so I don’t get stuck along the way, because I know a Legend of Boulders that weigh the most upon the road.
But after twilight, after my omnipotent vision among Cassiopeia disperses with Sun’s warmth and glow, I’ll still be looking to the sky, watching for each bomb to blow, each shifting sliver of this silver moon as it orbits slight off of thirty one.
I’m interested. I want to hear the whistle, for without the whistle, I know not who treads there though I’ve heard the Legend told here.
Fermented Madness
I awoke into my madness
Blind, awake
Lifeless but my breath
And all around me spanned vines
Crawling amidst my thoughts
Scaling trees
Leaving me a gnarled world
As if each fruit I picked.
Dreaming as I lay awake
Of fermented terroir
Calmly settling inside the vice
A cork upon thy voice.
Can sweet time carry a vision?
Can it send me notes?
For not too soon shall I carry home
What lay me into madness.